This is an open letter to my children; as of today, they are 15, 13 & 11. (It may seem like Sarabeth and I were well-planned parents with the whole two year spread between each baby, but I assure you – it was sheer fate.)
Children, “garbage in, garbage out.” That was a common mantra in geekery way back in 1984, when your dad was programming voice command-robots at Texas A&M University, but it still applies now. With each day, you gain more independence and we – you and I – move into more of a trail guide/traveler relationship over the parent/child one we’ve been in, but I want to be sure that you understand one important truth:
Don’t listen to crappy music.
As I lay here at 2AM, chasing sleep to no avail, the chorus of Lora Brannigan’s “Gloria” will not let me go. It is relentless.
I wish I had never tricked my parents into letting me watch Flashdance on HBO back in 1983. I wish that I hadn’t listened to Dallas’ 97.1 KEGL, The Eagle the summer before when Brannigan hit the airwaves at least once an hour followed by Bonnie Tyler’s “I Need A Hero.” There is no escaping this menace. I even tried replacing it with Mungo Jerry’s “In The Summertime” but all the voices in my head are calling Gloria.
If the Mayans are wrong, you could be laying in bed a dozen years from now with “Pontoon” or “One Thing” stuck on repeat.
Don’t let this happen to you.
I’m out of words now…